To Get Ice Cream
by Antje
Summary: Before Harry and the rest start Fifth Year, they're stuck at Grimmauld Place with chores, jokes, incidents and intrigues. If they finish what they're supposed to, Mrs. Weasley promises to bring them some Florean Fortescue's ice cream.
1. 7 AM

**To Get Ice Cream**

**A/N:** Thanks for clicking on "To Get Ice Cream," a very old HP fic I wrote in 2005. All I can remember about the origins of the fic is this: it was a prompt from the now-defunct livejournal community hp_glam. It had to have a couple items in the story: clowns, David Bowie, and I think it had to have Hermione/Ginny showering together (for real? But that might've just been my brain.)... additional items to be mentioned, "hair dye," the phrase "stuff you, you disgusting twat," birthday cake, nail polish (varnish)... and I think that's it.  
**Pairings**: subtle Hermione/Ginny; less subtle Remus/Sirius, although it's pretty gen.

oOo

**7 a.m.**

A loud crash and a huge heap of wild, dissonant cackling woke the majority of the number twelve, Grimmauld Place household. The loud crash remained a mystery while Harry Potter shifted his round-rimmed glasses on his nose. The cackling, however, was something he'd grown used to over the last few weeks.

"Ron," Harry shouted across the room he shared with his best friend, Ronald Weasley. True to Ron's nature, the bright, red head remained stuck against the pillow. Not the loudest of noises could disturb Ron from a Saturday morning lie-in.

Mrs. Black's portrait went on screaming filthy, unbecoming things to whomever her beady, mean eyes could catch. Sometimes she didn't require a presence at all. Harry swore up and down that the woman just liked to hear the sound of her own insults ricocheting across the gloomy, old halls of "the noble and most ancient house of Black".

"Rubbish," muttered Harry to himself. He rummaged from bed and went to the bedroom door. Opened a crack, he could peer down the landing. At first all he saw was a bushy head of hair, then realized it was Hermione. A sleepy-eyed Ginny Weasley stood at her side. Harry ventured to the landing and met them. "What's all the noise?"

"What do you think?" snapped back Hermione, rarely in a cheerful morning mood, particularly when the alarm clock was Mrs. Black.

Ginny spoke through a yawn. "Too bad they can't get her off the wall and throw her in a place her screaming would be good for something."

Faintly, Hermione smiled. "I heard Sirius say yesterday that he wished he could donate the portrait to Hogwarts."

"Hogwarts?" asked Harry. "Why? I mean," he looked in the direction of subsisting profanity, "other than the fact that it would be brilliant to get her out of here."

"Black said he'd like to see her hang up in the Slytherin common room," Hermione continued. "She'd be among 'her own kind', as Sirius said." She then hesitated and threw awkward, shy glances at Harry and Ginny.

"And," prompted Harry, "what else?"

"I don't think I can say it. Your godfather, Harry, can get quite, er, _colorful_ with his vocabulary when he chooses."

"Oh, Merlin's beard, Hermione!" Ginny arched her eyes and huffed. She, perhaps due to the influence of her elder twin brothers Fred and George, didn't have qualms repeating dirty words, so long as it wasn't within earshot of Mrs. Weasley. With a hand on her hip and her hair messed around her face, she lowered her voice to a rough imitation of Sirius Black. "That damn woman would be happy in Slytherin House, where she can pelt out insults to all gits and fuckwits who pass by, and be insulted back ten-fold. Would do the old hag some good, being around other people who think their shit doesn't stink."

Harry laughed. Uncertainly, Hermione joined him, more for Ginny's impression of Sirius than anything. When their laughter faded, Harry leaned over the banister to catch a glimpse of the house below, Hermione and Ginny on either side of him. Harry rubbed his eyes, thinking that the mist of sleep was messing with his vision. The ground floor looked cloudy.

"Vile creatures of filth! The worse nightmare of my life!" cried Mrs. Black's intimidating portrait.

Sirius Black, offspring of the figure in the portrait but barely looking it, had finally risen to the challenge. He yelled over her slur of insults like a professional Bad Seed. "SHUT UP, YOU INSOLENT PIECE OF WORM FOOD! SHUT UP!"

Another figure came up the stairs behind Sirius, moving slowly and smoothly. Remus Lupin, formerly Professor Lupin. "She needs to find additional clever invectives, Sirius," said Lupin. "These are getting very tiresome."

"YOU!" Mrs. Black had caught sight of Remus Lupin, werewolf. Her eyes enlarged and red flame of evil leapt into the fathomless pupils. "You mutant! Flea-infested vermin! How dare you enter here, you impure beast!"

Lupin took the insults well. It was Sirius who hated his mother's fiendish portrait.

"I told you to SHUT UP!" cried Black.

As the curtains were closing, Mrs. Black went on chanting in her uncouth manner, and Lupin, helping Sirius pull the drapes together in the middle, waved a free and congenial hand at her. "Until next time, Mrs. Black."

The other portraits in the main hall hadn't been roused like Mrs. Black, and all was quiet and still again. Ruffled emotionally, Sirius sighed and folded his arms tightly across his middle, grumbling ". . . tedious waste of time." Lupin shoved his hands in his trouser pockets. They traversed the length of the hall and vanished from sight.

"Poor Molly," Lupin could be heard saying. "Here she was hoping Harry and the kids could sleep in for a bit today. . . ."

Ginny turned to Hermione. "Well, I don't think they liked that very much. I wonder what happened. Why would Mrs. Black just go off like that?"

Hermione shrugged, as did Harry. "I heard a crash," he said. "It woke me up. Didn't wake up Ron though."

The three of them jumped when a CRACK! followed by a POP! brought George and Fred to the corridor. They stood there innocently, with invisible halos pinned above their angelic red heads. A flesh-colored string, Extendable Ears, told of their early monkey business.

"What have you two been up to?" asked their sister. Ginny tossed her hair as if she didn't want to admit interest. But Fred and George always seemed to get news ahead of everyone else, at least of those who weren't in the Order of the Phoenix.

"It's way too early," Harry said, stifling a yawn. "You've still got pajamas on."

"I know," said George. "Adventure waits for no man to don proper raiment. It's too damn early for so much excitement."

"Did you hear the crash?" asked Fred. He watched approvingly as only Harry nodded. "Well, so did we."

"And knew we should investigate at once," said George.

"Thought it might be Kreacher taking the piss from Dad before he's off to work."

"But it wasn't Kreacher."

"And so who do you think it was?"

George couldn't wait for them to answer. "It was Mum."

"Mum?" repeated Ginny, stunned.

Even Hermione didn't understand completely. Mrs. Weasley seemed plain unable to make mistakes. "We heard Lupin saying something to Black about it, just a second ago."

"Came up to close the drapes on Vieux Madame Toujours Pur, right?" George wiggled his eyebrows, delighted at the antics of Grimmauld Place. It was a great location to be as long as one thrived on fun and mischief and mystery, as the Weasley twins did. "Mum was in a right state."

"Think she burst into tears," said George.

Harry was exasperated at the twins' delay. "But what happened? What was the crash?"

The door to Harry and Ron's bedroom opened, and Ron stood there. "No sense in trying to sleep with all you jabber-mouths out here. What's going on? Harry looks peaky." He looked at his brothers. "And you two, you've been up to something." His own thought was perplexing. "This early in the morning? On a Saturday?"

"The Order never sleeps, little brother," threw in Fred with a wise glint in his brown eyes.

"Sleeping, yeah, I was doing that—and enjoying it, too. I think I'll slip off back to bed," murmured Ron.

George grabbed the back of Ron's striped pajama top and yanked him back. Ron made no protest but stood there, inches taller than Harry, already noticeably taller than upcoming Seventh Years Fred and George.

Fred was watching Harry, to get back to the question. "It isn't such an interesting story, Harry."

"But you know how careful Mum can get," added a nearly wistful George.

"So we were all of us shocked and horrified when she accidentally dropped the can of Doxycide too near the kitchen fireplace—"

"And it sorta, er, incinerated."

Fred thought George's choice of words rather lame. "Exploded, more like. And fancy that all you kids up here heard was a bit of a crash. You can still see the smoke and soot lingering in the main hall."

At first Harry was let down by the story, though he had seen the trace of smoke, then Fred and George started adding quick details.

"Too bad Kreacher wasn't a spot nearer when it exploded," Fred remarked, a daydream glow in his smile.

"That's what Sirius said, too," said George, smirking. "'Damn it, Molly,' Sirius said, 'you could've at least waited until that disgusting elf got in your way.' But Sirius laughed it off, and Kreacher was not in sight. Shame, shame."

"Dad had to rush off to the office. He hates working Saturdays, but what can he do?"

"And he left Lupin in charge of the fireplace repair."

"But of course that only made Sirius ripe with jealousy."

"He's not got to do much around here. It's making him sore."

"So then he stormed off—"

"Apparently up here to deal with Madame Toujours Pur—"

"And Lupin naturally went with him—"

"He soothes Sirius when he's upset, and it gave Mum a moment to forgive herself."

"Mum's terribly hard on herself."

George nodded and winked at Ron and Ginny. "Reckon we might get something good out of all this, though, if the guilt holds up well enough."

"George and I are on our way down now to test Mum's straits."

Before the rest of them, Hermione knew what they were plotting. She took a confident step forward and waved a commanding finger. "If the two of you even _think_ of what I think you're thinking, I'll—I'll—"

Fred threw her hand back at her, albeit gently, playfully grinning. "Or you'll what, Hermione? Cast a spell on us?"

"Can't, you know," George said, "you're underage."

Fred tapped George on the arm and they headed toward the end of the landing, at the front corner where the staircase unfolded. "Woman's got to learn to accept gifts as they come to her," quipped Fred to his brother. Their voices halted once they Disapparated.

Hermione huffed and shoved her fisted hands against her hair-covered temples. "Pestilent sods!" was all she managed to verbalize before turning her back to them.

Shaking his head, Ron stared emptily into the floor. "Don't know what that was all about." He lifted his eyes to Ginny and Harry. "So Mum dropped some Doxycide in the fireplace and it exploded?"

"Yeah," answered Harry. "Er, I guess."

A slow grin enlivened Ron's droopy, freckled face. "Sweet! Wish I'd seen it! Would've been something to remember!" Ron disappeared into the bedroom. Harry squeezed sheaves of his thick, dark hair together on the top of his head, a quizzical glare at Ginny.

"Breakfast?" He began for the stairs but stopped at Ginny's gesture.

"I think I'll go check on Hermione. Careful down there, Harry, you wouldn't want to step on Fred and George's toes, metaphorically speaking." She rushed off. Harry lightly pondered the warning.

As soon as he was on the main floor, Harry caught the scent of damp limestone, and even noticed a dusty haze in the air. Granted, the Black mansion was absolutely filthy, despite Mrs. Weasley's and the visiting "underage" guests' best attempts to clean it. But this fog was different; it was black, brown and coarse: fireplace soot. Around the entrance to the basement kitchen, the soot was a thicket. Out of the blanket rose a straight figure, plain wardrobe of muted colors, void of wizard's robes. Harry halted where he was and watched Remus Lupin give his wand a "swish and flick" while saying the transfiguration invocation clearly.

"Ventus Fieri Saxos."

The dust and soot became activated, and before Harry's eyes it swirled into a tiny, midair cyclone. The spiral wound itself tighter and tighter, to an obsidian hue darker than Harry had ever seen. Then, all of the sudden, the small cyclone spun itself to the floor. Lupin picked up the deposit and tossed it in his palm. Harry saw that the soot had gathered to form a smooth pebble.

Lupin regarded Harry. "Good morning. You'll be wanting breakfast I suppose."

"My stomach had thought about it. Is it a mess in there?" The expression on Lupin's face smarted Harry. He shrugged and confessed. "Fred and George sort of, er, told me, er, us, what happened."

The former Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher struggled to keep from smiling. "And to think that Fred and George are in there now trying to acquire a gift from Molly—on account of her feeling guilty, and on account of their interrupted beauty sleep."

So that's what they were doing, Harry thought, and no wonder Hermione was upset. Fred and George were using their own mother's guilt to get something from it. One question remained: What could they possibly ask for?


	2. 8 AM

**8 a.m.**

"She caved like a pixie in a snare!" George was all delight and charm as soon as he and Fred entered Ron and Harry's bedroom.

"Like a flobberworm down a muddy cliff."

"Like a red cap on a—"

"Honestly," and with that Ginny smacked the two of them on the chest. She raked them with a glare that would've made anyone wither. "What did you _do_?"

Fred and George smiled at each other, then they smiled at their four audience members.

"You do the honors," George said to Fred, "I can't. I'm too proud of us to speak."

Fred sighed in reverence to the action. He, too, was feeling quite proud. "Procured us a lovely day trip to Diagon Alley, dear sister."

Ginny eyed Hermione, who lifted her shoulders. Ron looked warily at Harry, the tip of his lip curled in annoyance. Harry's stomach immediately sank at the news. Though he didn't show it, he knew the trip wouldn't include him. Harry was as trapped in that house as Sirius. This didn't occur to his friends, not aloud, and Harry put up the proper show that it hadn't occurred to him, either.

"What's the big deal about that?" Ron demanded. "If our book lists ever arrive, won't we be going there?"

"Probably," said George. He sat on the bed next to pajama-clad Ron. "But, as usual, dear Ronald, you are missing the bigger picture."

Ron went even more lackluster. "Huh?"

"Helpless," snorted George. He gestured to his brother. "Fred, would you mind filling him in? As much as the space between his ears _can_ get filled, that is."

Ron gave George a shove. Harry knew Ron hated to be teased about his wits, especially by his brothers. Percy was the only Weasley who'd been as book smart as Hermione. Fred and George, receivers of decent school marks, had their own brand of intelligence most of the time.

On the bed, in George's place, Fred sat and sighed at his dim-witted brother. "See, Ron, if we're in Diagon Alley for the day, moseying about like we haven't a care in the whole wide world, that means we're not here. Not being here means we—are—not—_here_. Get the point now?"

Meaning illuminated Ron's face, and he spouted out a bright "OH!" as a firecracker bursts. "If we're not here," he said to Harry, "that means we don't have to CLEAN!"

Harry got the meaning, too. Like Ron, he hadn't understood what Fred and George meant. Diagon Alley wasn't in itself a great thing, but if it meant a day without cleaning a mucky corner of Grimmauld Place, then Diagon Alley was indeed very grand. For them, at least. Harry regarded Fred and George. "And she fell for it? Brilliant."

Fred and George grinned their arrogance.

"Don't look so smug," warned Hermione. "If your mum finds out what the two of you have done—"

George went back to playing innocent. "Didn't do a thing."

"Our hands are quite virginal when it comes to this matter."

Harry wasn't so sure, and felt he should warn them. "Lupin knows."

The twins gawked. "What?" murmured George. "That sneaky lycanthrope. . . ."

"He won't tell," assured Fred, more for himself than his brother. "Do you honestly think Mum would believe him anyway?"

"You're right. Besides," George met Harry's gaze, "Lupin's coming. I heard Mum invite him. He accepted. Mum said she'd rather stay here than baby-sit us—"

"As if we need baby-sitting," Ron said. "But Mum's not going?"

Simultaneously, Fred and George shook their heads. "Lupin said something about her needing a break from us as much as we needed a break from her. We are around her an awful lot."

"Love the woman," Fred said, "but she grates the nerves after a while. Day in, day out."

"She's not going," surmised George.

Ron's smile got ten-times bigger. "Double brilliant!"

"I'm all for it," said Ginny. "I could really go for a butterbeer float at Florean Fortescue's." She nudged Hermione in her side. "You've got to admit it, Hermione, the evil twins did well."

"I won't admit that," snipped Hermione. Then she laughed at their serious, sour faces. "But I will admit that Florean Fortescue's Ice Cream Parlor sounds delicious. Sugar-free chocolate fudge over frozen bananas!"

There were cries of "Yuck!" from everyone else in the room.

Sirius came up to hail them all to breakfast. But, for the first instant he appeared in the doorway, he gaped at them openly. "The lot of you look like you're planning something, standing around like generals. Should we adults be frightened?"

"Nah," said George, passing Black and roaming out to the landing. He was trailed by Fred. "We were just meticulously planning the downfall of Kreacher." Black fell in line behind them, saying, "Don't let me interrupt you." He was vaguely disappointed when Harry explained that they were only kidding.

The fireplace in the basement kitchen looked like it had before. Not new, Harry decided, it would never be that, but at least it wasn't in ruin all over the floor. The smoke and soot had been magically wiped away. Mrs. Weasley was calm, doting, maternal, as she served her four children and two spares. For the first five minutes, she chattered on about the upcoming excursion to Diagon Alley, furtive glances of warning to Harry, as though she hadn't decided whether or not she'd allow him to go. The times she had her back turned from Fred and George, they would nudge and wink and smile at each other, saints congratulating themselves. She finally sat down at the table with the others to eat her toast smeared in marmalade, eggs, and sip a cup of ginger tea.

"Sirius," she began, "I'll get a new can of Doxycide to replace the one that—"

"You don't have to, Molly."

"But I want to," pleaded Mrs. Weasley. "It'd make me feel better." She went on to cover up the timorous tone. "Is there anything else we need? I've been making Lupin a list."

Remus went on with his breakfast, seemingly oblivious to the conversation. He didn't even pay attention when Sirius grumbled.

"Hold up just a second! Why does Remus get to go?"

"Well," Molly was clearly trying to find a reason, "look how pale he is. A bit of a sun on a nice summer's day would do him some good."

"Pale?" shrieked Sirius. "PALE?" He pinched his own cheek and pointed at it with his other hand and rose a little from the chair. "Hello, Molly, I'm turning translucent!"

Molly only clicked her tongue and shook her head, spiced with a sympathetic smile. "Now, Sirius, really, no need excite yourself."

Lupin tugged at the open cuff of Sirius's flannel shirt. "Sit. Eat."

It took a lot of effort for Sirius to drop the matter. He wanted to have the final say. "Vampires have got nothing on me. No sun. No healthy tint to my melatonin. No touch of the soft grass against my skin, or the wind in my hair." He touched his hair, groused, and dropped his arm heavily to the table. The plate in front of him of toast and eggs was pushed away.

Harry reached across and pushed the plate back. Although they said no words, Sirius understood. He picked up his fork and poked at the eggs. In a lean toward Lupin, he muttered, "You always get to have all the fun, Moony."

Lupin wasn't threatened by these words. "Think so? Well, if you're quiet about it, Sirius, and don't mention it again, I'll bring you back a sugar quill."

"Yeah," Black paused, "because that'll set everything right." He went back to guttural, incoherent words. "Vampires . . . sunlight . . . I'd show them." He stabbed at his eggs with his fork, clearly pretending they were enemies. "May as well wear garlic on my neck."

"You're starting to sound like Kreacher," said Lupin. The fork continued to stab at the helpless eggs. Lupin laid his hand over Black's wrist. "Be gentle with the eggs. They are full of proteiny goodness."

Mrs. Weasley cleared her throat inconspicuously, lifting the teacup to her lips. Through narrowed lids she was warning Lupin. About what, though, Harry couldn't tell. Inquiring but silent, Harry looked at Ron, and Ron only made a wry face with a cocked eyebrow. He noticed Ginny had a touch of blush on her cheeks, and was dangerously near her breakfast plate, as though attempting to be invisible. Clearly, Harry had just missed something.

"There was just a tap on the door," Lupin said, saying so out of the blue. "The locks are opening."

Confused, Mrs. Weasley set down her cup to the saucer. "Really?" This to herself as she rose and shuffled into the hallway.

Harry heard the front door open and close. There was some chatter. "Who is it?" Harry asked Lupin.

"Tonks," came the reply.

"No wonder you're in the Order," Hermione said. "Those are some powerful ears you've got."

"Being a werewolf has its advantages," claimed Lupin, not at all bragging. He was making an effort to appreciate one side of his life. The advantages never outweighed the disadvantages, or the inconveniences.

Tonks fluttered into the room. She tripped over her own feet on the last stone step, but glared back angrily. "I swear, things just jump out and bite me. Speaking of bite," she ruffled Lupin's hair, "hello, handsome."

"Good morning, Tonks." Gentlemanly Lupin pulled out a chair at the corner of the table. Tonks plopped down. Mrs. Weasley was at the stove, fiddling with another cup of tea while the kettle poured in steaming water. The tea landed in front of Tonks, and Molly reclaimed her seat, appearing as pleased with herself as Fred and George had earlier.

Tonks was in Headquarters just less often than Lupin, but more than any other Order member. The young Metamorphmagus never showed up twice with the same physical features. That morning, she had her hair in a gold pageboy, her Muggle clothing bright and modern. To Harry, and probably Hermione as well, as they'd both grown up in Muggle households, Tonks had the attitude and fashion sense of a socialite or movie star. Harry, in many ways, was in awe of Tonks, and even her clumsiness was endearing.

"Oh, Sirius," started Tonks, angling around Lupin to perceive surly Black, "I brought that stuff you wanted. I hope it's the right kind."

At the same time, like-minded Lupin and Mrs. Weasley chorused "What stuff?"

"Never you mind," warned Sirius. Because he knew Remus was about to nag further, he brought Tonks into the day's event. "What have you got planned today, Tonks? Lupin and the kids are going to Diagon Alley for the day. You can go along if you've nothing better to do."

Tonks didn't have a chance to reply immediately. Mrs. Weasley was cheering, rare for her to cheer any of Sirius's ideas. "You _can_ go, you know, Tonks," she chirped happily. "The kids are going along, a treat for them, but I daresay they'll find other things to do. You can help Remus with the shopping. I've made a list. Not a very long list, but just some things we need around here."

Sirius knew exactly what Molly was up to and decided to check her. "Molly dropped a can of Doxycide in the fireplace this morning."

Tonks gasped and widened her eyes. "No! I bet that was something exciting!"

"It was an accident," threw on Mrs. Weasley, again glaring daggers at Sirius. "The whole thing was cleaned up in no time. And no one was hurt, thank goodness."

Fred and George didn't miss a beat.

"Except she interrupted our precious, precious, sweet, sweet sleep," said George.

"We're growing boys on the way to our last year at school," added Fred, "and we need all the precious and sweet sleep we can get."

"I, of course," said Sirius, "cannot go to Diagon Alley. I have to stay here and, you know," he played with his empty cup of coffee, "do important household things that require tools and feats of sheer manliness. I won't be going along. Lazy Lupin can go. Molly says he needs sun." He clapped Lupin on the back, throwing him a look that just dared him to respond. Lupin went pale, paler than normal.

"Well," Tonks took nothing Sirius said as verity, "I'm doing work this evening. That means I'm free for the day. So I can go. I'm aching for a mango-melon sherbet, and nobody blends them like Florean Fortescue!"

Ginny and Hermione laughed. Ron explained to Tonks that ice cream had been on all their minds since finding out they were going to Diagon Alley.

"Where's your list, Molly?" inquired Tonks.

"I have it," Remus said. He unfolded it from the front pocket of his merino vest. He handed it to Tonks. "It's a bit brief."

She wrinkled her nose at it. "Merlin, it's huge," came a sarcastic jibe. "Doxycide, owl treats, and earth grain." She lifted her head, brow knitted. "Earth grain? Why not just say 'dirt'?"

Harry had wondered about that himself. He'd never heard of earth grain before. Hermione explained.

"Earth grain isn't dirt. It's a pellet feed. Pinecones and some deciduous leaves are crushed to a fine powder and mixed with tallow, then the mixture is compressed into a pellet. We'll probably be learning about it and its counterparts in Care of Magical Creatures next year."

"It's for Buckbeak." Sirius spoke as if curbing Hermione's winded definition. He rose from the table to clear away his dishes. Harry noticed too much food had been left on the plate.

Harry followed Sirius's example, as did Hermione, Ron, and the others. Breakfast was over. Harry made show of helping Mrs. Weasley with the tidying. There was a slight chance he might hear more of what the Order had been doing lately, or if anyone had heard about Voldemort's recent actions. The four present Order members knew better than to discuss business out of a meeting.

Tonks turned to Remus. "Have a quill? I want to add something to the list." A quill and ink pot appeared on the table, dropped there by Sirius.

"What are you adding?" The question was almost menacing. Sirius was getting moodier as the weeks in Grimmauld Place wore on, and he was no closer to joining the day trippers than Harry.

Tonks never noticed Sirius's ill manner. She was bent over the strip of parchment, quill in hand. "A box. A Horstel Box, actually."

"Ah," mischievous light gleamed in Sirius's eyes, and he excitedly sat backward in the chair. He hunkered into it, hiding a part of his face, the smiling part, behind the seat's decorative back. "You mean to get rid of that ghoul in the upstairs toilet. A Horstel Box ought to do the trick."

"Precisely!" Tonks replaced the quill in the ink jar and leaned back. With a flick of her wrist she gave Lupin the updated list. "While the kids are looking at the latest Quidditch craze at Quality Quidditch Supplies, Remus and I can sneak on over to Knockturn Alley, grab the Horstel Box, and be rid of the ghoul by the end of the week."

Sirius was stroking his chin pensively. "Would be nice to use the upstairs loo again without parts of me freezing off. Do you have the money for a Horstel Box? Aren't they a bit pricey?"

"Twenty Galleons, maybe," Tonks said. "Depends on if it's imported or not."

"I'll get you the change before you go." Sirius pointed at Remus. "Don't let me forget, Moony."

"I won't."

Sirius saw Harry was the only one of the kids still lingering in the kitchen. By the keen observance of his godfather, Harry reclaimed his seat. Sirius set his stubbly jaw against his hands, mouth momentarily smeared to one side.

"Ever banished a ghoul, Harry?"

"Er . . . " Harry fumbled for words. Banished a ghoul? Well, no, not precisely that. A lot of other things went through his mind, similar thing: escaping Voldemort, swooping by a very angry dragon, watching someone die . . . "No," he shook his head, half to answer the question and half to rid the thought of Cedric Diggory's death. "No, I've never banished a ghoul. Why? The one in the upstairs loo, we're finally going to do something about it?"

Sirius knew that Harry knew. His godson was a better eavesdropper than Molly, or Fred and George for that matter. But Harry did have a lot on his mind, with the upcoming Ministry of Magic trial being held a week from Thursday. Sirius smiled boldly. "Tonks is going to purchase a Horstel Box. The ghoul has to have a box to go into or it'll just go to another part of the house. The Horstel Box is strong enough to hold the weight of the ghoul. Well, not its weight, really, more like its . . . spiritual essence. Ghouls aren't good things, Harry." Now Sirius wondered if he wasn't just rambling. "And spirits that are good are lighter in their spiritual weight than something contaminated and evil, something impure."

Harry fidgeted but then flattened his hands against the table. "You know, Sirius, if you ever get your name cleared and everything, maybe you should take up the Defense Against the Dark Arts job at Hogwarts."

"Me?" Sirius's laugh boomed through the kitchen. "I wouldn't take it. The job's jinxed. Everyone knows it. Jealous Snivellus up to his old tricks, I'd wager." He laughed again, no explanation coming, then tossed a hand at Harry. "Go on, better get dressed. Time is fleeting."

"But I'm not going with the others," Harry said, his hesitation even a surprise to himself. He looked at Mrs. Weasley. "Am I?"

There was only a sympathetic grin and tilt of the head from Mrs. Weasley. Sirius tapped Harry on the arm.

"Go get dressed anyway," said Sirius. "You can pretend."

Why Sirius seemed to be in such a good mood that morning, Harry couldn't deduce. Usually, whenever Lupin went anywhere, and anyone else did anything remotely interesting, Sirius would tumble into a vortex of misery and gloom. Those around him would be subjected to the misery and gloom. Harry caught a cautionary leer from Lupin. Leaving the kitchen, Harry knew Lupin was having kindred thoughts.


	3. 9 AM

**9 a.m.**

Instead of arguing who was first in the shower—as the house only had one, unless the ghoul-infested bath counted—Fred and George always bathed in the evening "so we don't have to put up with all this nonsense", as Fred claimed. Harry never voiced a sincere opinion whether he was first in the shower or not. "I've got priorities," he said to Hermione one morning not long after his arrival at number twelve, Grimmauld Place. Hermione and Ginny always bathed first in the morning, switching back and forth between themselves. Later, Harry made a confession to Ron: "I don't mind the bathroom after they've been in it. At least then the tile's warm." But Ron did say they were less likely to be left with any hot water. Usually, Harry let a half-hour pass when Ginny or Hermione were done, long enough to give the hot water time to refill. It didn't always work, and the half-hour was lazy, boring, dull. Worse it was on that Saturday when it seemed like everyone was in a rush to leave the house as soon as possible.

To keep occupied—occupied enough so that Mrs. Weasley wouldn't be obliged to hand them a task—Harry and Ron tidied up their bedroom. Harry was refolding clothes in his trunk, taking everything from it, and replacing them into neat piles. "I don't know why I do this," he told Ron glumly. "It'll just be a mess again in a fortnight, if even that."

"Well, I don't mind, if it keeps Mum from giving us chores. I think all the cleaning supplies are starting to affect my sense of smell." Concerned, Ron rubbed his nose and took a test whiff. "No, I take that back. It's Hedwig's cage I'm smelling."

"Sorry," Harry said, meaning it. Hedwig's cage really was beginning to possess a strong odor. "I'll get to it later." It could be something he did while the rest of them were capering around Diagon Alley.

Ron doubted Harry's promise to clean the cage, but chance to voice the doubt was denied. Two female shrieks sounded from the hallway. With the bedroom door open, Ron and Harry rushed to it. On the landing, a few paces from the bathroom, Hermione and Ginny were chirping like angry sparrows. At first Harry thought they were yelling at each other, but discovered they were speaking nonsensical words aimed only at the air.

"Mental," Ron said, shaking his head at the girls' lameness. Then he braced up and shouted, "Oy, would the two of you dry up!" Ron's meddling was interfered yet again by Fred and George Apparating in front of him.

"Mum sent us up," Fred said, eyeing Hermione and Ginny. He had to keep talking through laughter, because George was laughing so hard he was doubled over. "Good thing, too. What the bloody hell's happened now?"

Although Harry thought nothing about it, as soon as George spun around, and made show of covering his eyes, did Harry notice Hermione and Ginny were still damp from the shower, both wrapped in bath towels.

"Nothing to see here, Potter," warned George, the most authoritative Harry had ever heard him. "You just turn about now and mind where your peepers land."

Meanwhile, while Harry turned as purple as Ron, Fred was trying to figure out what was going on.

"What caused you two to come screaming out of the bathroom like some dying banshees?" Fred waved a hand at them. "And why are _both_ of you in towels? One to a shower at a time. That's not a hard rule to understand."

Hermione and Ginny looked at each other, both shivering but neither one particularly embarrassed. Ginny swallowed and went ahead with the first part of the explanation.

"That damn ghoul in the other loo must've flushed the toilet," she said, teeth chattering.

"The water all the sudden got really, really hot," added Hermione. Her hair was wildly pinned up in a haphazard manner at the back of her head. Tendrils of it came free in her vehemence to make Fred and George understand how the situation wasn't her fault, or Ginny's. "Really hot," she said again.

"Scalding," said Ginny.

"Burning."

"Look how pink my arm is!" Ginny held out her arm for inspection. It was a little redder than what was good for sensitive skin. "Stupid ghoul. I really hope Tonks's plan to vanquish it works."

"Okay, fair enough," George declared diplomatically. "I always knew that ghoul had a bladder control problem. Most murderous ghouls do, you know."

Ginny rounded her eyes, and Hermione snorted. "Not up to you to believe us," said she in pure hauteur. "Why else would we run screaming from the bathroom in nothing but terrycloth? You're not that thick."

Fred assumed the same pose as George: right arm over the chest and left hand raised against his chin. They had the faces of judges. "And what about the 'one to a bath' rule?"

"Conserving water." It was Ginny who said it first.

"Conserving time," threw on Hermione.

Fred and George looked at each other, then, as if on cue, angled slightly to see Ron and Harry. The boys had ceased to avert their regard. George smacked Harry on the side of the head, throwing his already messy hair intensely askew.

"You just keep your peepers shut, Potter!"

"That's _our_ sister you're gawking at!"

"I'm not gawking at anyone's sister!"

Ginny and Hermione had tiptoed down the hall, almost to the point of escape, when Fred caught them.

"Wait just a second! We're not finished yet."

The two unembarrassed girls waited impatiently. They knew there was nothing Fred could tell them that would hurt their feelings or bring swift punishment. Nonetheless, they stayed put, Ginny still shivering, Hermione with her lips drawn to a thin white line.

Resolute and rather lost, Fred gave a negative shake of his head. He implored his sister's generosity. "Please don't make me have to tell Mum. You tell her yourself. This isn't exactly turning out to be a red-letter day for all of us. Go on," he shooed them away, "get clothes on already."

"About time!" Hermione stormed off with Ginny to their bedroom. The door slammed shut. A few decibels louder and the bang would've woken Mrs. Black.

Fred and George descended on Ron and Harry. George had his arms creased at his waist. "Ought to box your ears," saying it first to Ron, then quickly including Harry, "both of you!"

"What'd we do?" cried Ron, no longer purple in the face; he'd dimmed to a flat, rubescent hue. "We didn't do anything!"

Suddenly Mrs. Weasley's holler came from the first floor. "Boys! Hurry down! I need your help!"

It was hard to imagine she meant anyone other than Fred and George, but Ron and Harry, too curious, and too bored, followed. Harry let Ron go ahead in the main hall. Mrs. Weasley was just ahead, fanning her arms about and face squeezed together in anguish. Inside the dinning room, Harry saw what mess had been made and who it'd affected. Disgusting, holy, moth-eaten drapes had fallen, rod and all, from the decaying wall. Underneath the window, a table and a chair had tipped over. Nearby was Tonks, her head tilted over guilty. Wailing rather angrily in one corner was Sirius. He was rubbing an injured leg. He stopped sputtering out curses upon noticing Harry and the Weasley boys.

"I don't require all of you," he said to them.

"It's my fault." Tonks waved a wand at the draperies, saying a word that rolled the fabric around the rod in an instant. "This is why I never try and help with anything."

Sirius was composed for a millisecond before he shouted: "You're a bloody Auror, Tonks! Your whole job is about helping people! You're a bloody member of the Order, for Merlin's sake!"

Tonks was horrified, more startled by the outburst than hurt by the brash words. Sirius waved a hand in front of him. Tonks hailed and grabbed his wrist. As soon as he was on his feet, he sat down again, this time in a chair.

"I'm sorry, Sirius." Self-conscious, Tonks gently and carefully pushed a serpent-footed ottoman to Sirius. He lifted his lame leg upon it. Tonks had a gentle smile of pleasure wrapped across her mouth. "See, I can do good things . . . sometimes."

To everyone's surprise, Sirius gave an appreciative grin. "Of course you can. To make it up to me, I demand you bring me back something from Florean Fortescue's. Remus has already promised me a sugar quill. You can bring me a . . . h'mm. What haven't I had in ages? Oh, I know! An Ice Mice Cream Dice, made with vanilla—but no cherry on top. I don't like cherries. Can you remember that?"

Speedily, Tonks nodded. "Ice Mice Dice. Vanilla. No cherry. Very good. Anything else for you, kind-hearted sir?"

Sirius flounced his hand at the wrist, dismissing Tonks as a liege dismisses a vassal. "Nothing further. You may go," he said.

As Tonks was leaving the dinning room, Remus was entering. On account of the large wooden crate he was carrying, he could hardly see where he was going. For once it was Tonks who avoided a catastrophe by side-stepping Lupin at the last possible second.

"Ah, Sirius, there you are." Lupin set the crate beside the ottoman. The crate was full of papers and notebooks. A scribble on a side board read "Regulus School". Regulus Black had been Sirius's younger brother, a Death Eater, and a bit of an idiot, at least from what Harry had heard, told to him from the biased point of Sirius. Lupin started emptying the crate's contents when he noticed Sirius's position. "What's wrong with you?"

Sirius had been pinching the bridge of his nose like one who has a headache that won't quit. But he dropped his arm and glared openly at Lupin. He used one word to answer. "Tonks."

"Nothing serious, I hope."

"A twisted ankle and a wonky knee."

"Same old, same old." Lupin simpered. "Rough, this aging business, isn't it?"

Sirius winced. "I wouldn't know. I plan to live forever. I'm going to outlive my dear mother's insulting portrait. And I'll outlive every thought you've ever had of me, Moony."

Immediately, Mrs. Weasley had Ron and Harry by the shoulders. She pushed them to the exit. "I think I've got something for you boys to do on the first floor."

"Mum!" Ron tried defying her. He spun from her hands and grabbed Harry as he went. "Harry and I have been doing our own bit of cleaning. And that hall clock upstairs scares me. Doesn't it, Harry?"

"Yeah, sure does," agreed Harry very quickly. He really hadn't the vaguest notion what Ron was babbling on about. "Full of spiders, Mrs. Weasley. Ron's got the worst case of arachnophobia I've ever seen." It was true, since Ron's case was the only one Harry knew, therefore it had to be the worst. He'd never seen someone more afraid of spiders than Ron Weasley.

Sirius called from the chair. "Oh, let them stay, Molly. I promise I won't say anything inappropriate. You can stay, too, if you want." He offered the placation using a slight smirk. The conceit was enough to roughen Mrs. Weasley's demeanor.

Mrs. Weasley did remain long enough to take the drapes from the hooks so that they might be properly scrubbed. She made a mumble about magic being unable to do their dirt sufficient justice.

Around the crate Lupin had brought, Harry and Ron sat. They recognized classroom parchment, some of it still rolled up nicely, stuffed among a couple of hardbound and softbound books.

"What have you brought?" queried Sirius.

"Well," here Lupin pointed at the filling, "I've brought you minor bits of immortality. I found some of your Hogwarts work mixed in with your brother's effects."

Sirius lifted his gaze to Remus. "Where?"

"Your brother's old room."

"Why?"

This gave Lupin pause. Sirius always seemed to know exactly how much to draw out of a person: one question always led to another question until the absolute rawness was reached. "Tonks wants to get a Horstel Box for the ghoul upstairs. I thought I remembered seeing a Horstel Box somewhere in this house."

"In this infested dump? In this tragic heap of disdain?" Sirius cackled in delight, the recognizable laugh that resembled a bark. "I wouldn't be surprised. There's probably a half-dozen. Kreacher may even have nicked one by now. I don't know where you would've seen one. Did you check the old hag's room? She might've kept one hidden in her drawer of drawers, along with her favorite implements of torture. It's too bad we can't have an open house sale. Make big signs that say: 'Everything that's ugly is yours for the right price!'"

While Sirius talked, Harry pulled out a copy of _Advanced Potions_ from the crate. The book was covered in small, round, smelly white spheres. Several fell over the sides of the crate. Even Crookshanks, typically eager to play with anything that rolled, wouldn't go near them. Harry picked up one of the spheres and examined it. The smell was unmistakable. He dropped the moth ball and wished the Blacks had had sense enough to use the scent of cedar to ward off fabric-eating insects. Harry thumbed through _Advanced Potions_. In the wide margins, sometimes running over to the next page or on the text itself, were quill markings. Upon closer inspection Harry saw it was thin, condensed handwriting. He didn't recognize it as Sirius's hand, and that meant it was most definitely that of Regulus Black. Harry abruptly dropped the book to the bare floor. The sensation of holding something that'd belonged to a Voldemort supporter, a dead man, and a relative of his godfather's was suddenly too much.

On the highest floor above came a thunderous cacophony followed by three shrieking females.

"Not again," said Ron. Along with Remus and Mrs. Weasley, Harry and Ron headed for the corridor. Tonks was scurrying down the stairs, frightened.

"Where's Sirius?" she was saying breathlessly.

Lupin pointed behind him. Tonks flew into the room. Staying where he was, Harry could hear what Tonks remitted to Sirius.

"It's Buckbeak." Her voice was more hurried than frantic. Calm, like an Auror ought to be in the face of an unwanted shocker. "He got out of the room somehow . . . Started chasing poor Ginny and Hermione. But Buckbeak doesn't know me, so I couldn't get close to him without having him want to rip my head off like I'm some tasty dead ferret."

"What'd you do?" Sirius was in the hallway, twisted leg and knee miraculously healed, evident by his taking two steps at a time.

"I tried putting an immobility charm on him. I missed." Tonks was treading behind Black as quickly as she could.

Ron and Harry were on their way up the stairs. From behind, out of nowhere, Mrs. Weasley grabbed and held them still. "Sirius can handle this himself. Now about that problem on the first floor . . ."

Ron looked at Harry. Harry looked at Ron. They resigned to the fate of missing the excitement of Buckbeak escaping from his cell, a.k.a. Mrs. Black's boudoir. Sighing and knowing they'd been gypped, they listened inattentively while Mrs. Weasley recited obvious chore instructions.

Alone in an unused first floor room, cleaning rags in their hands as they faced the murky, soot-covered windows, Ron summed up exactly what Harry was feeling.

"Is this ridiculous morning ever going to end? I'm starting to wish Fred and George hadn't conned Mum into giving us a day trip to Diagon Alley. At least then I wouldn't care whether the morning's crud or not." He sprayed cleaning fluid against the window pane, then sneezed. "I just want some ice cream! Is that too much to ask?"


	4. 10 AM

**10 a.m.**

Not too long after the chimes and bongs of the tall clock down the hall announced the hour, Harry and Ron were hailed to the landing by a fantastic scream. Bending over the banister, Harry readjusted his glasses to get a better view of what was happening below. The fast, pounding footsteps of the heavy hippogriff resonated the length of the landing. A tip of a feathered wing became visible, just for a second, and Buckbeak let out a cooing call.

"They haven't put him back in Mrs. Black's room yet," concluded Ron. "Wonder what's taking so—"

He stopped and coiled, along with Harry, away from the banister. Buckbeak was climbing the stairs. The large animal, running blindly in fear, was coming straight at them. Harry seized Ron, and the two of them hid in a doorway. Buckbeak was being pursued by Sirius, perhaps the only one in the house that Buckbeak wholly trusted.

"Buckbeak," Sirius hailed, trying to do so soothingly, "stop right where you are. I'll not be chasing you all over the house today."

The hippogriff failed to heed Sirius's warning. Buckbeak passed Ron and Harry's hiding spot. The boys noticed something odd hanging from Buckbeak's mouth. It was a garment, made of some kind of whitish, lacy fabric. Then Sirius passed, noticed them, and paused to give a warning.

"Just," he tried to think of something commanding to say, "get back to what you were doing. I'll handle this." Sirius moved on. Harry and Ron heard him mumbling, "Come back here, you dirty wanker," evidently to the hippogriff.

Buckbeak had flown into various rooms whose doors were open to him, winding his way through the upper floor. Many of the rooms had pocket doors joining the next room over, allowing him to wind in a figure eight pattern. Sirius remained on the landing, however, wand at the ready in case he had to stun Buckbeak, as Tonks had attempted previously.

In a pant, Hermione ran up the steps. She hugged the wall, inching her way to Ron and Harry. After a gulp and a feisty, sore look in Sirius and Buckbeak's direction, she sunk into the room behind Harry and Ron.

"You two," she said through a teasing grin, "you're really missing all the fun today."

Thinking about how he'd never get to join the day trip to Diagon Alley, along with all the excitement that morning, Harry sloped his shoulders. "No kidding. Who was the last one in Buckbeak's room? Who didn't double-check the lock? It couldn't have been Sirius."

Hermione's brow crinkled together and her eyes were hard, questioning. "It definitely wasn't Sirius. I think it was Lupin."

"Lupin? He wouldn't even go near—" Harry's words were brushed aside.

"Buckbeak at least knows him," continued Hermione, "and Lupin knows how to avoid offending a hippogriff."

"It's not that hard," said Ron. "Feed 'em a bunch of dead mammals, and they'll like you well enough. Well, Malfoy managed to make balls of it, not surprisingly."

Harry was less defensive than Ron, and more interested in Hermione's theory. He knew she was on to something. "Lupin did say he'd been looking around the house for a Hormel Box, or whatever."

"A Horstel Box," corrected Hermione, void of superior condemnation. "He must've gone in to Mrs. Black's room to find one. He probably forgot to lock the door when he left. That doesn't entirely fit with his personality, though."

Still, a crinkle between her eyebrows told Harry she wasn't through fleshing out the theory. Then Harry leaned back, his arms fell lax at his sides.

"You think—" The inclination was too strange to speak aloud. Hermione's passive expression spurred Harry on. "You think Lupin left the door unlocked on—on _purpose_?"

Ron couldn't do anything for five seconds but laugh cockishly. Hermione went back to spy on Sirius. Harry joined her just in time to watch Sirius escort the captured hippogriff down the stairs. Being held by the rope bridle didn't please Buckbeak in the slightest. The murmurings from Sirius reassured, and only a hint of fear was left in Buckbeak's globular, orange eyes.

Aware of what he'd uncovered in Hermione, Harry spun to her. "You were serious, weren't you? You really think Lupin's doing all of this on purpose. Letting out Buckbeak, the drapes falling conveniently on Sirius, maybe even getting Mrs. Weasley to let the Doxycide slip into the fireplace."

Ron let out a faint grunt of disapproval. He couldn't believe what he was hearing. "I'm not so sure Mum would risk exploding a fireplace just because Sirius is bored stiff."

"Ron's right," admitted Hermione. Ron pinked with pleasure; he liked being told he was right. Hermione sneered at him. "Lupin may be doing a few of the things around here this morning, but I can't believe that he's convinced Ron's mum to show pity to Sirius."

Dejected, Ron glanced at Harry. "Now she's right. Mum wouldn't do it."

Harry swept back his hair and examined the landing again. It was quiet and empty, except for a few hippogriff feathers, bright colors stark against the dark carpet. "I don't know. I think Mrs. Weasley would do her fair share to keep Sirius from thinking so negatively."

Tonks and Ginny were flying up the stairs at top speed. Harry, Ron, and Hermione held their breath, each waiting for the next unusual circumstance. Ginny was scanning the landing at her feet, molding to banister. Tonks scanned just as vigilantly in the other direction.

Harry leaned into the sill. "What are you looking for, Ginny?"

Ginny ignored the question. "Did you see Buckbeak up here?" Harry nodded. Deeply focused, Ginny couldn't help but keep looking for the artifact. "Did he have something in his mouth?"

"Yeah, actually," responded Harry. "Some kind of cloth, I thought. What was it?"

Before Ginny could answer, Tonks screeched across the landing, her lively voice echoing in the wide space. "Found it, Ginny!" Tonks waved the white rag once.

Squinting, Ron tried to see what the object was. "What _is_ that?"

Hermione leaned into one leg. "Hope it's not ruined, Ginny, or covered in Buckbeak slobber."

"Me either!" said Ginny as she ran to meet Tonks.

Even Harry's curiosity wouldn't be sated. He tapped Hermione at the elbow. "What was it?"

"The whole second floor is a mess, thanks to that bird, er, thing," Hermione said. "He came straight into our room and tipped over our trunks. Ginny's most especially."

Harry shrugged. "So?"

"You're so clueless, Harry." Now Hermione smirked and enjoyed the moment. "Along with trailing half our clothes out of the room, Buckbeak ran off with my pajamas and Ginny's bra. She's lucky if she got it back in one piece."

"Oh," mumbled Ron. His cheeks were turning purple again. He and Harry exchanged mortified expressions. "I think we'd better get back to cleaning," suggested Ron. He was already scuffling into the spare room. A little too eagerly, Harry followed. A second later, he tossed Hermione a question.

"You going to keep an eye on Lupin?"

"No." She said it without hesitation, meaning it. Harry couldn't argue. "Lupin's already down there trying to clean up the mess Buckbeak left behind. If I'm right," she cast a vacant glance to the landing, as though trying to see through the floors to what was going on below, "then in another ten minutes or so, Lupin will find some other hazard to unleash." Hermione huffed and arched her eyes, but Harry had a feeling she was putting up a pretense of reproach. A smile betrayed her true affection for the matter.

Another crash came as Hermione was just leaving Ron and Harry. She stopped at the top of the staircase as the rumble came. Harry darted from the room, Ron at his heels. The trio analyzed what bit of the second floor they could see. So far the portraits on the ground floor remained silent.

Ron nudged Hermione. "Ten minutes, right? I'd say you were off by about ten minutes."

The swears and curses coming from a second floor room kept Hermione from rebuttal. Sirius was using contemptuous language like they'd never heard before.

"Stuff you, disgusting twat," heralded Sirius like it was gospel. The anger was set off by a sudden spout of merry laughter.

"Lupin," whispered Hermione to Ron and Harry, should they have a difficult time identifying Remus Lupin's laugh. As rare as Lupin's laughter was, Harry did have a moment where he wasn't quite sure who'd dared laugh at Sirius Black.

Sirius's laugh was clearly identifiable, bark-like and staccato. An up-the-scale giggle preceded Tonks's blithe tone.

"You dumbass!" she said. "That was a completely daft thing to do! I'm surprised I didn't do it. I'd thought about it, though."

"I'm glad I did," said Sirius. "Truly."

A lapse in noise sent Hermione, Ron, and Harry descending to the second floor. Faint shadows flickered across the carpet from the room ahead, where Tonks, Lupin, and Sirius were. In the lead, Hermione suddenly stopped and pointed to the floor ahead of them. Harry and Ron looked beyond her wild hair and shoulders to the indications of movement.

"Look!" Hermione knelt over the walking figurines. No taller than three inches, they were painted wooden clowns, waving to their audience, two or three at any given time completing a jumping tumble or somersault.

Lupin's form solidified in the doorway. He had his wand in his hand. His shirt was a mess of brightly spattered fluff. To Harry, the fluff had a suspicious resemblance to cake icing. "Ah, good," Lupin nodded to the figures. "They haven't stumbled over the banister yet." In one swipe of his wand hand, the little clown figurines were back in the room, going by so fast as to appear as a blur. "Back in the case where they belong. One of the old Black toys, no doubt. Clowns and serpents, a perfect blend of evil. Are the three of you okay?"

"Er, Lupin," Ron said, staring at the untidy man, "what . . . what's that crud all over you?"

A forefinger prodded a pink glob, and Lupin tasted it. "I'm not entirely sure, but it tastes like strawberry." He smirked at Ron and headed back into the room.

The three of them gaped into the room, and nothing could've prepared them for what they saw. It'd always been Lupin's room, from what Harry had learned, and Remus was anything but disorderly. But disorderly was the only word Harry could've used to describe what he was seeing. Aside from the quiescent hippogriff on the old bed, all contents from the closet seemed to be strewn across the floor. Papers and clothes were the least of the concerns. In the middle of the carpet, directly under the serpent-designed chandelier hanging from a plaster rosette, were the remains of a very large cake, the words 'Happy Birthday' slanted and barely legible. Partly in the pile of deformed cake was Sirius Black. He was recumbent on the floor, legs covered in chocolate cake and icing. He held his wand at his chest, the frosting so thick in spots that his tattoos were entirely concealed. His gaze shifted to Harry as he blinked. He grinned, cool eyes full of mischief.

"Harry!" He laughed and struggled to sit up at the waist. "Fancy a slice?"

Tonks was laughing behind her hand. Imploringly, as though Harry expected it to be her fault, she gestured her innocence. "It wasn't my doing this time! I swear! It's just, well, Buckbeak got sick, and—"

"And the last thing I wanted was to be covered in hippogriff vomit, full of dead rat juice," picked up Sirius. Modest of the effort of his magic, he lifted his shoulders. "So I transformed the vomit into something a little more flattering."

The three of them, Sirius, Remus and Tonks, were all laughing at this recount, the memory too fresh to part with. Tonks had stopped laughing before Remus and Sirius. The two of them seemed to hold a connection to an unidentified thing. Harry learned it was another memory.

"Ah," sighed Sirius, lying on his back, refusing to remove himself from the cake, "reminds me of fourth year, Halloween, Remus." Sirius cocked his head up to spy on Lupin. "Remember?"

"I do remember. I was thinking the same." Lupin replayed this memory privately, had another hardy snigger, before turning his wand over Sirius. "Would you like me to clean this up now?"

Sirius didn't move as he said, "Oh, go ahead."

At precisely the time that Remus was about to utter the incantation, both Tonks and Sirius grabbed their wands. All Harry really saw was Tonks lifting her wand to Buckbeak, and a shout of "Look out!" from Sirius to Lupin. The power of the two wands collided with a liquid projectile from Buckbeak, turning the mush to white and red streaked cream. The gallon of cream landed flat against Lupin's back, high enough to cover most of his hair. It sent him staggering forward. He lost his footing on the frosting and slipped. Inevitably, he landed with his face in the remainder of the cake.

Too horrified to be amused before, Hermione and Ron erupted in laughter. Ron was laughing so hard his ears and face went as red as the frosting. Hermione got a stitch in her side and held a hand over it, unable to stop laughing. Harry tilted against the wall to keep from falling. Humor had a way of making him want to sit exactly where he was and not get up again until the hilarity was good and gone. This lasted so long that it brought in Ginny. She took one look at the room before grinning.

"If this wasn't the worst day ever," she said, winded with laughter, "it'd be the best day ever."


	5. 11 AM

**11 a.m.**

Buckbeak was taken back to his room. Sirius, even Hermione, did not really know what was causing him to intermittently vomit, but for the moment the illness had abated.

"Too bad," said Sirius as he locked the door.

Harry already knew what his godfather was thinking. "Don't worry," he told Sirius, "I'm positive he'll throw up again—at least once—all over the floor. Your mum's spirit will be thoroughly disgusted by it, I'm sure."

"Here's hoping. Meanwhile," Sirius tugged at his loose jeans, damp and holding faint scars of colored frosting, "I'd better go change. It'd just be plain wrong to walk around this dismal hellhole smelling like Honeydukes."

Sirius was turning away when Harry instinctively called out. Stopping, Sirius faced him, expectant, serene.

Harry felt himself shake his head, hardly minding the words he spoke. "You know I'm not going with them to Diagon Alley today."

"Mm-hmm," mumbled Sirius. He shifted tendrils of hair out of his eyes, tresses glued to clumps from dried icing. "Molly knows. I believe George and Fred do, too, probably even Ron and Hermione. But I'm guessing they haven't mentioned it."

Harry's gaze lowered.

"It's all right, Harry," Sirius clapped his shoulder, "they know when they'd be insensitive pricks for mentioning it in front of you. We'll stay here, the two of us," his smile brightened, "and pretend we're people who're so damn important that to leave the house we'd need an army."

The grin Harry returned was filmed over with doubt and seriousness. "But that is the truth, basically."

"Basically," sighed Sirius.

"Is it always going to be like this, do you think?" Harry had put his godfather on the spot. Advice was easier to give if Harry asked through owl post. Sirius could take his time replying then, write it out slowly, attach it to the owl's leg slowly. Face to face, however, it was different; it was abrupt.

Sirius looked away for a second, then back to Harry, thoughts reasonably collected. "It could be worse, you know. It can always be worse."

"I suppose." Harry tried not to think about all the terrible things he'd seen. Then it occurred to him that things could be worse, certainly. Also better. A lot better.

He and Sirius wound up the staircase to the second landing. They passed the lit-up bathroom. The door was open, and Sirius paused to see inside. His head angled a little, and Harry saw the small, pleasant smile, crooked and shockingly sincere. Harry himself peeked in the room with caution. The high flames of the gaslights illuminated Ginny in front of the mirror, Remus Lupin behind her, and Hermione at the other mirror. Lupin was braiding Ginny's flame-red hair. Hermione was trying to brush hers, a lot of effort to gain some control of it.

"Where'd you learn to braid hair, Remus?" asked Ginny. She grinned up at him in the mirror. "I don't think you'd ever have your hair as long as Sirius has his."

"No," said Lupin, "but it was his hair I used to braid."

Both Ginny and Hermione laughed. Harry kept an eye on them while Sirius slinked away. Instead of joining Ginny and Hermione in doing their hair and addressing lip gloss issues, Harry stayed close to Sirius. In Sirius's bedroom, Harry sat on the edge of the bed. Sirius went to a tall, antique wardrobe, a Black heirloom no doubt, and opened the top cupboard. Inside were the lights of a modern stereo. It looked very out of place among the ancient gewgaws of the manor. After hitting a button on the stereo, some music started playing. Rock of some sort, something a little before Harry's time.

There was a plastic shopping bag sitting on the bed not far from Harry. It was from a Muggle supermarket. "What's this, Sirius?"

On his knees, reaching across the high bed, Sirius brought out the carton from the bag. He gave a solitary chortle, then wound the bag around the carton. "It's what Tonks got for me today. Remember, she mentioned it at breakfast."

Harry recalled, only vaguely. Breakfast seemed like days ago. "Nothing, er, bad, is it?"

"No, just something to stave off boredom and bother the hell out of Moony and Molly." He set the package on top of a small bureau. His grin to Harry was wholly immature. "It's just dye, Harry."

"Dye?"

"Hair dye. I'm envious of Tonks always being able to change her hair color. We were joking about it the other day. She said I should add a touch of mahogany. I said I would if she bought it for me. And there you have it. I think Tonks can be very manipulative without meaning to be. Do sometimes forget she's a woman, and I suppose that's why I'm shocked by it. Well, all the same, it was sweet of her to indulge my whimsies."

Sirius rummaged through the pull-out drawers at the bottom of the wardrobe. "Remus!" he suddenly uttered. "He's been cleaning my room again!" Disgusted, Sirius threw a neatly folded pair of trousers on the bed. "You'd think the bastard would have better things to do with his time than to clean up after me."

"You are a bit messy," said Harry. "Sometimes."

"But he's a member of the Order!" His anger had the warmth of caring, and even Harry doubted Sirius's ability to dislike Lupin's cleanliness. "Members of the Order shouldn't have to hang about with wanted fugitives—fugitives who do nothing but fooster about in the first place." The belt of his pants was thrown as indignantly to the bed as the jeans. "He might've been the best Defense teacher you ever had, Harry, but Remus can be as dense as a bottle of shit."

Harry, not expecting it, laughed almost as hard as he had when Lupin fell into the cake twenty minutes ago. Sirius waved a warning hand, one leg out of his sullied trousers.

"Don't tell Molly I said that, especially in front of you. She thinks I treat you like James."

"I know," Harry commented. "But I know you know exactly who I am."

"Yes, I do. You're Harry Potter, my favorite godson." Sirius smirked and reached over to ruffle Harry's hair. The clean blue jeans were grabbed from the bed, but before putting them on, Sirius cranked up the volume of the stereo. When he looked at Harry, his eyes were crinkled to thick black lines due to a huge grin. "Remus's favorite song. He'll be here in five seconds." Sirius stared keenly at the door. "Five. Four. Three. Two. One."

Remus popped in just as Sirius had predicted. He didn't look happy to hear his favorite song, and Harry suddenly understood that it was just the opposite: This was Lupin's _least_ favorite song.

"Turn it off, Sirius."

"We always argue about our musical differences," Sirius said to Harry, ignoring Remus. As Remus was bounding to turn the stereo down himself, Sirius blocked his way. "No, no, Moony. What would Prongs say if you turned this song off? It'd be like disrespecting him. Disrespecting him _and_ David Bowie. That's just not right." Out the corner of his eyes, Sirius regarded Harry, then winked. He kept on smiling at Lupin. Perhaps because they'd fought about it so many times before, though never while Harry had been at Grimmauld Place, Lupin merely flipped around and left the room. The short argument, and the fact that he'd won, pleased Sirius. Bobbing his head and burrowing into the music, Sirius added a little more volume.

"Aren't you worried about Mrs. Black waking up?" Harry knew the music was loud, but he wasn't so sure it was loud enough to wake the sleeping portraits in the main hall. Harry's warning was nullified as he watched Sirius dancing around the room. From the way he played air drums to the beats and sung along, the song was well-known. Eventually, Sirius danced and twirled himself out of the room and onto the landing. Harry stayed put a moment, wondering if Sirius was coming back. When he didn't right away, Harry dashed out the door. Sirius was strutting—no other word for it, really—down the landing, still singing, and doing neither without talent.

At the top of the stairs, drawn up by the noise and Sirius's evident presence, Hermione was already in hysterics, and Ginny giggled behind her hand. Remus was less than delighted.

"Sirius, what are you doing? Where in Merlin's name are your trousers?"

Sirius shrugged. "Sing with me, Moony."

"Not until you put your trousers back on."

"Oh, hang my trousers."

"You can't dance around in house full of teenagers in a faded t-shirt and socks."

"Would it be less opprobrious, do you think, if I took off the socks?"

Across the landing, Harry caught Hermione's eye. Through her gulping laughs, he caught her murky meaning. It'd been her thought that Lupin was giving Sirius a day of some excitement. Perhaps she'd been wrong, and it was Sirius who was giving himself a day of some excitement.

Lupin tossed up his hands in disgust, retreating back to the stairs. He tried to escape but Sirius was there in time. "Come on, Moony, just sing one line." Sirius picked up the song's lyrics. "It's like thunder . . . The way you love me is frightening . . . I'd better—" he tapped Lupin's forehead, "knock on wood!"

Ginny and Hermione hypnotized and unable to forfend themselves from the sight of dancing Sirius in a shirt and underwear. Harry met them just as Ron did. Ron, confused, and not a little frightened, scoped the scene. "What the hell's gotten into him today?" No one answered Ron.

"I will absolutely not sing this song," said Lupin, evil glare on Sirius. He shoved Sirius away. Sirius finally retreated, but went on singing as he pranced and danced.

Fred and George suddenly Apparated right in front of Sirius. Immediately, Sirius froze. "Minion children of the underworld," he said in a light-hearted joke. "What can I do for you? Message from the Queen Mother?"

"No, not really," said Fred. "This is serious, Sirius. Or is that 'This is Sirius, serious'?"

George was pallid, and noticeable fear was in his glassy gaze. "It's just . . . there's a visitor."

Fred and George pointed to the banister. Flinging himself there, Sirius looked below. Lupin glared down to the main corridor over Sirius's shoulder. Harry looked, too, and a tingle of horror crept across his neck. He caught Sirius's vague and blank expression.

"Snape," Harry murmured. He, of all of them, couldn't believe that Snape was standing in Grimmauld Place. The loathing from Snape was so strong it could be felt.

With one step and a short slant, Lupin disappeared down the hall. Sirius, meanwhile, arched over the banister and gazed in his haughty way at Snape.

"Well, well, well," began Sirius, "I thought I was smelling a foul, slightly inhuman lubricant."

"You're one to get arrogant now, Black," responded Snape, demeanor cool, unruffled. He was a figure that fit with the interior of Grimmauld Place, in his dark Muggle attire, a long leather coat in place of his grogram robes, boots with the pointed toes outward and claw-like. His bleak, unwanted presence brought a rapid sense of the macabre to all present.

The music in the background stopped, and Remus returned. In walking behind him, Lupin gave a warning to Black, "Go put some trousers on before he gets any ideas."

Unfortunately, Remus's warning wasn't dulcet enough; Snape heard him clearly. "I've got enough ideas, Lupin. All the same," he gave a mock bow to Sirius, "many thanks for providing further evidence of your insanity, Black."

Sirius remained in a calm stance over the railing, his wrists lobbed over one another, like a dog crosses its paws before a warm hearth. "What are you here for? Up to your chronic malversation? I didn't think they let you out during the day."

"You can keep your inurbane comments to yourself today, Black." Snape appeared to be, for once, quite sincere to Black. He could've easily contorted Sirius's sentence into a ridicule, but held off. Occasionally Snape preferred spotlighting his importance in the Order rather than blatantly deriding Black; either way won Snape a successful disparagement. "I'm here on Order business. Why else would I want to be here?"

"In that case . . . " In a gallantly good mood, Sirius bobbed down the stairs and met Snape in the main hall. They stood by the ugly, crural umbrella stand. Snape flicked a hand at the closed drapes, behind which was Mrs. Black's portrait.

"Would your Mother find it odd that you're going to attend an important meeting sans trousers?"

"Wouldn't give a Galleon if she did," Sirius said. "I used to wander around these halls with much more than just cacks missing, back in the day. And anyway, with just you here, Snape, I doubt it will be an incredibly important meeting."

To that, Snape had nothing to say.

Fred leaned toward Harry, whispering very quietly. "Must be something bad if Snape's held his tongue this much. Sirius is really goading him on, and Snape's not batting an eye."

Harry felt someone walk behind him. It was Lupin, again, this time returning from the bedroom with Sirius's clean blue jeans, belt wrapped in one hand. In the main hallway below, Mrs. Weasley was giving greeting to Snape, and hadn't even noticed Sirius's scrawny, bare legs until Lupin shoved the jeans against Sirius's chest. Snape had a brow cocked at Sirius, a look of pure repugnance that Harry had been on the end of often enough in Potions class at Hogwarts. The adults wended out of view. The kitchen chamber door shut.

Subsequently, cutting the awkward silence, George turned to Ginny. She nodded, already knowing. "Dungbombs. I'm on it." She hurried off to complete the errand. Crookshanks, making his first appearance since Buckbeak's escapade, padded along behind her, the end of his ginger-colored tail curled across his back.

"In the meantime," George paused and lifted an Extendable Ear from his pocket, "let's do a test run."

Harry and the others waited. George had an intense look of concentration on his face. As Ginny returned, carrying two Dungbombs, George tugged the line from his ear and lifted the rest of the cord so it slinked across the railing. "No good, Ginny," George said. "It's been Imperturbed."

"Damn," uttered Ginny. She gave a hopeless glance to the soundless main hall and sighed.

"I wonder if that means someone else will pop in," mused Ron. "Maybe it really is important."

"That's not likely," said Fred, but he, too, was disconcerted.

"Well," Hermione cuddled Crookshanks against her, "there's nothing we can do about it. I'm going back to finish tidying up Buckbeak's mess. At least I know I can do something about that."

"I'll help you, Hermione." Ginny handed George the Dungbombs before taking off. Harry saw the nice French braid coiled down the center of her head, Lupin's handy work, and the tension of Snape's unexpected presence dissolved.

Ron set his elbows on the banister. He gave a solemn shake of his head. "What a strange morning this is turning out to be."

"Could be worse." Harry recited the conciliatory words of Sirius. Knowing Ron wasn't convinced, Harry set his lumbar against the rail, arms folded, staring into the grimy walls of Grimmauld Place. "Do you remember what we did yesterday morning?"

Ron thought back, then thought some more. "Cleaned."

"What else did we do?"

"That's all." Ron caught on, though he remained solemn. "I see your point. Thankfully this is a morning that we'll actually remember."

"Exactly. Who could forget the way Lupin just slipped and fell, right into the cake?"

Fred laughed in fondness. "Or the way Buckbeak carried Ginny's bra halfway around the house."

"Or the look on Snape's face," added Ron, "when he looked up and saw Sirius standing here in with his legs al fresco. Never seen Snape that color before. A touch livid, like a corpse. Even more memorable than when we zapped him unconscious at the end of third year, Harry."

Harry nodded but didn't smile. That night wasn't exactly one of his fondest memories. Like many of his escapes, it was a mixed bag of emotion, the good jumbled with the bad. Absentmindedly, Harry mussed his hair and returned weight to his feet. "Well, I think I'll go help Ginny and Hermione. More cleaning. That's just great. And voluntary this time."

"I'm starting to wonder," began Ron, accompanying Harry, "if we'll actually get to Diagon Alley or not."

"It's still early," said Harry as optimistically as he could. "It's not even noon yet."

"Yeah. And Tonks really wants to get that Hormel Box."

Near enough to Hermione and Ginny's room, Hermione overheard Ron's mistake. "It's a _Horstel_ Box, not a _Hormel_ Box!"

Harry and Ron paused at the head of the room. Books, clothes, even some of the frames from the wall, were still scattered across the hardwood floor. "What happened here?" Ron inquired sarcastically. "Looks like you ladies have had a hippogriff run amuck."

Ginny was at her trunk, trying to fold and tuck books and garments inside it as tidily as she could. "Stop stating the obvious. Just get in here and start helping, Ron."

Ron went ahead, helping Hermione sweep up scattered cat litter from a busted bag. Harry started gathering picture frames. He could guess where they went by matching up the shape and size of the frame with the bright spots surrounded in grit left on the peeling wallpaper. The last one he replaced was an old oil on wood of a Common Welsh Green. Smoke plumed from its wide nostrils and it seemed to wink at whomever viewed it, hardly disconcerting to Harry. A painted dragon was nothing compared to the real thing.

They worked for ten minutes before Harry caught shuffling feet traversing the main floor. He dashed to the landing but held back from the banister. Only his eyes scanned over the adults' heads below. He caught no words of importance, just farewells from Mrs. Weasley that Snape repeated. The locks and chains on the doors rattled as they snapped into place once Snape departed. Suddenly, Mrs. Weasley angled her chin up and gave a hearty shout.

"Those of you who still want ice cream, hurry down!"

Ginny, with Ron and Hermione, flew to the landing. Fred and George, two landings above, watched their mum with suspicion.

Mrs. Weasley was smiling at the children, each in turn, though passing Harry. "It's about time you got going, don't you think? It's already lunchtime."


	6. 5 PM

**5 p.m.**

Harry was sitting with Sirius in the drawing room when Lupin and his friends returned. The drawing room, since being cleaned, was the most habitable room in the Black manor, aside from the kitchen. With its musty, mildew-ridden wallpaper and moss-colored carpet, serpents looking at him no matter where he glanced, Harry felt uncomfortable there. The décor was equivalent of the Slytherin common room circa 1870. Regardless of how many rubbish sacks they'd filled, no matter how many oddities they'd culled from the vitrines, the room kept ostensibly to its reptilian flair. Harry sat on the floor, despite the spare chairs, his back against one, with his copy of _Quidditch Teams of Britain and Ireland_ open on his knees. Since he and Sirius had conversations off and on throughout the last ninety minutes, Harry hardly paid attention to the book. He'd read it too many times before, anyway, and hearing adventures of Moony, Wormtail, Padfoot, and Prongs, from Padfoot himself, was a rarer treat. Sirius was sitting in a high-backed leather chair, Crookshanks wound up in the center of his lap, when a commotion came from outside the room. The door slid aside, bringing with it the chattering voices of Hermione, Ron, then Ginny, Fred, and George. Everyone was in delightful spirits. Harry smiled at their greetings. None of them seemed bothered to discuss the excursion, though neither Harry nor Sirius had been able to go.

"How was it?" started Harry, closing the book and setting it aside. Ron slipped onto the couch, nearly slipping off it due to its shiny, slick surface. Hermione plunged into a horsehair chaise lounge. "Did you go to Florean Fortescue's after all?"

"Did you?" interrupted Sirius, accusatory look at Lupin. "Did Tonks remember to get my Ice Mice Dice?" He, along with Harry, suddenly noticed the absence of Tonks. "Where is she?"

"She didn't come back with us," answered Hermione, covering for Lupin. "She had to go straight to work."

"Dammit." Sirius scratched the neck of purring Crookshanks a little rougher. He was determined to skulk.

"She didn't forget," Remus said. He dug around in a pocket of his robes to procure a clear container, the design on the side of the cup familiar to all who'd ever been to Florean Fortescue's Ice Cream Parlor. Holding it in one palm, Lupin tapped the container with the very tip of his wand. "They put a freeze charm on it for me, so it wouldn't melt on the way home." Ending with a smile, he placed the treat directly in Sirius's hands.

Sirius pulled it into his chest as though hugging it. "Thanks. Or, rather, I'll have to thank Tonks when I see her again. Where's my sugar quill? I was a good boy all day and deserve to have my reward."

Lupin examined the Ice Mice Dice for a moment. "The sugar quill will have to be your second dessert, perhaps your third. At any rate, I'll give it to you after dinner."

"You're a wondrous friend, Moony, a wondrous friend. I'd starve if it wasn't for you." Ceremoniously, he removed the cup's convex lid, set it aside, and took up the provided spoon. But he stirred it instead of diving right in, savoring the moment. "Did you and Tonks get the Horstel Box?"

"Yes, that was the easy part," answered Remus. He removed his robes and laid them gently over the end of the piano bench. "The box is with Molly, she put it in a safe place until we're ready to use it. Tonks said she'd be back sometime this week and help us vanquish the ghoul."

"And we'll finally get another loo in this house," said George.

"Could use it, too," added Fred. "Not for us, mind you; not for the men. It's the women that's the trouble." He gave a solid nod at George and Harry and Ron.

"What else did you do?" Sirius finally picked up the spoon, covered in Ice Mice Dice, and shoved it into his mouth. After committing a wiggle and a pleased groan, he loudly barked, similar to what Harry had heard him do while dancing down the hall. "I forgot how great Fortescue's ice cream actually is! Creamy! Cold! Delicious!"

"That's all we did," Lupin said, answering Sirius's question. "The kids wandered around at all the particular haunts. Tonks and I went to Knockturn Alley to get the Horstel Box."

"Anything funny happen there?"

Remus gave an uncertain half smile. "I'll tell you later."

"Fair enough." Sirius was consuming his ice cream in deliberate slowness. This was an atypical indulgence, and he meant to take his time with it. "Did you tell Molly you had a nice time with Tonks?"

Sirius spoke the inquiry so nonchalantly, only a slight taunting raise in his eyebrows, that Harry didn't know it was meant to be a joke until Fred snickered conspicuously.

"I did have a nice time with Tonks." Lupin sat on the piano bench and lifted the covering off the piano keys.

"Not that kind of fun," murmured Sirius.

"Hold on," Harry flew up a hand, glancing between Sirius and Lupin, finally resting on his godfather. "Mrs. Weasley is trying to—"

"Play matchmaker," it was George, from behind Harry, who answered. George gave a glum shake of his head. "Poor self-deceiving woman."

Fred nodded in agreement. "Blind as a bat, she is. Love her dearly—"

"But blind."

Lupin plaid some chords on the piano. "Nothing is wrong with your mother's eyesight," he insisted, tone bland. He scathed the twins from across the room. Fred and George sunk deeper into the couch.

"Guess you can't blame the woman for trying," remarked Sirius. He prodded the Ice Mice Dice with the spoon. A glob stuck on the end when he offered the spoon to Harry.

"What's in it?" Harry analyzed the substance. It was a butter-cream yellow, with flecks of pale blue from the chopped candy, speckled by small, dark clumps.

"It's vanilla ice milk with chopped up Mice—candy, naturally—and chocolate chips. Try it," urged Sirius, "you'll like it."

The ice cream had a sharp, very instantaneous mint sting, then the cold set in, afterward came the sweet bits of chocolate. While he'd been to Florean Fortescue's often, never had Harry tried an Ice Mice Dice. He would in the future.

Harry had the spoon in his mouth when the drawing room door opened. Mr. Weasley entered with Mrs. Weasley holding up a tea tray on the end of her wand. Alastor Moody stalked in after Mrs. Weasley, his magical eye tilling everything in sight. He glared longest at Harry, adding a gruff "'Evening, Potter," a one second look at Sirius, "'n Black." Mrs. Weasley set the tray on a suitable tea table, Sirius and Mad-Eye already declining the beverage. Mr. Weasley stopped in front of Hermione and extended a very curled copy of the _Daily Prophet_. Hermione thanked him, and eagerly accepted the paper. In the foray of the morning, she'd completely forgotten to read it, despite the way it constantly traduced Harry. Ron eyed Harry, and one swoop and fall brought him to the ground.

"You were all right," Ron was worried, "I mean, being here by yourself all day, weren't you? I would've stayed if—"

"I wasn't by myself," Harry said. He returned the dessert spoon to Sirius. Crookshanks pawed playfully at the utensil. Ron understood.

"Still, I would've stayed." Ron suddenly remembered what he'd seen that day, in the morning at number twelve, Grimmauld Place, but also in Diagon Alley. "It was really kind of boring. You didn't miss too much. Except . . . Well, there was some kind of festival going on. Some famous and dead wizard's birthday celebration or something. There were a couple of live bands that played. Also some weird wizards doing parlor magic, illusions, really, like taking off their heads and setting themselves on fire. Pretty normal. Stupid, actually." Ron nodded, convinced the festival had been nothing special.

"It's all right, Ron." Harry tilted into the front of the empty chair. "You can admit you had a good time. Your mum didn't even make me or Sirius do any cleaning while you were gone."

Sirius chuckled. "No extensive cleaning, anyway, apart from Hedwig's cage. Harry and I had a nice day reminiscing. I told him stories. He listened, like a good little godson, and we even managed to repair and replace everything that Buckbeak broke or disturbed this morning. I even got a chance to do my nails." He flashed his fingernails at Ron. They were a purple hue, shimmering in an overlay of silver.

Ron sniggered to Sirius, but whispered to Harry, "He really needs to find something to do if he's stealing Hermione's nail varnish."

"I think it was his nail varnish to begin with," mumbled Harry confusedly.

Mr. Weasley came over to Harry and gesticulated toward the chair. "Er, you don't mind, do you, Harry?" Harry scooted over, out of Mr. Weasley's way. Mr. Weasley sat in the chair with a tired exhalation. His elbow was on the arm rest, fingers to his horn-rimmed glasses. "Working Saturday's is so tedious. Hardly a thing to do." Mr. Weasley watched Sirius. "Anything amusing happen around here today?"

Sirius cocked an eyebrow and set aside his emptied treat container. "No, no, nothing really out of the ordinary." He flashed a short-lived grin. "Tonks picked up a Horstel Box in Knockturn Alley, so we'll finally get rid of that ghoul upstairs."

"Most excellent, indeed," said Mr. Weasley. "It'll be nice to have another bathroom."

"Agreed," said Sirius.

"Agreed," said Ron.

"I agree, too," said Harry.

Sirius shot his head up and shouted the length of the room. "Hey, Moony!"

Lupin remained seated on the piano bench, nursing a cup of tea. Mad-Eye was standing near, having just finished uttering a sentence to Lupin. When Mad-Eye spoke again, it was a deliberate admonition. "Never happy till you're the center of attention, are you, Black?"

"Shrivel up the rest of yourself, Mad-Eye," Sirius said, already smirking. "You know where I need to be to be happy, and I'm no cynosure. Besides, Mad-Eye, the last time I checked, your sobriquet wasn't Moony." Mad-Eye shifted on his feet, but Harry saw the old Auror holding his wrinkled mouth in a pucker, silently appreciating Sirius's spunk and liveliness. For a brief moment, Sirius ducked his head, removing his eyes from all party gathered. "Play us a song, Moony. Five Sickles if you can guess what I want to hear right now."

"I'd take that bet," Remus replied, turning toward the piano, "except what would I do with five Sickles? I think I've got everything I need." Nonetheless, Remus began tapping out an upbeat tune. It wasn't unusual to hear Lupin play, Harry had heard and seen it before, but it was unusual that Lupin would perform to a wide audience.

Behind Harry, Mr. Weasley sighed, content in the chair. Evidently, he recognized the song. "Excellent choice, Remus."

Ron asked his father what the song was. "Probably not something we've heard of," he mumbled to Harry as an afterthought.

"Muggle music," said Mr. Weasley. "The song's called . . . what is it called? Oh, right. 'Night and Day'. By a Muggle named Cole Porter. I think it came out in the early nineteen-thirties. Used extensively. Muggles call it a 'standard'. That's right, isn't it, Sirius?"

Sirius, like he was an expert on the matter, only nodded to answer. Harry wondered how close Remus had come to guessing the appropriate song, but didn't think to ask if Sirius was five Sickles poorer, Lupin five Sickles richer.

Ron was superficially perturbed at his father's extensive Muggle knowledge. "Dad and Muggle love. It'll never end."

Harry enjoyed the song. Sirius hummed along, Lupin murmured the occasional word, and Mr. Weasley, out of tune, chimed in here and there. Harry realized he was surrounded by his friends and family, all of them elementally serene. Ron was removing his trainers and wiggling the toes of his tired feet. Not far from him, posed across the chaise lounge, was Hermione, writing on a bit of parchment, likely a letter to her parents. Ginny was curled on the near end of the couch, reading a gothic romance book Tonks had lent her. Fred and George were in a close discussion, no doubt about their joke shop business, or what they were going to do with the new ingredients they'd acquired in the Alley that day. Mrs. Weasley was inspecting Lupin's worn robes, her finger bobbing into a hole in the sleeve. Lupin continued to play, the song cheery but his expression grave, perhaps from concentration. Sirius was tapping Harry on the shoulder with the inside of his foot.

"Been a nice day, hasn't it, Harry?"

Harry had another look around at everyone. Emphatically, he nodded to his godfather. "Yeah, yeah. It's been a nice day. Maybe someone will want ice cream tomorrow, and we can do this all over again."


End file.
